Intuitionist
by May a Chance
Summary: Living under the alias of Harry Potter, Halstead Emsworth is in his fourth year as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Unfortunately for him, he is now being forced to compete in the TriWizard Tournament against three students elder than he. Of course, Halstead always has a trick up his sleeve- this time it's teeth, claws, ESP and super senses.
1. Chapter 1: Mantra

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is a franchise created by J.K. Rowling and not my self. I do not claim to own it. Teen Wolf is a franchise created by Jeff Davis and not myself. I do not claim to own it. This story is not written for profit, rather for the joy of writing.**

 **Harry Potter/Teen Wolf crossover**

The House of Emsworth is well known amongst the communities of werewolves around the world, similar to the Hale family. When remaining inconspicuous, the Emsworth's use an alias passed down from one of the first werewolves in their line- Evans. While the Potter's were murdered by Voldemort, the remainder of the Emsworth family was taken out by a family of hunters in a fit of rage. This left the Dursley's and the Potter's alive. Harry has inherited the werewolf gene.

 **Rules**

Harry Potter is the alias of Halley, Halstead, or Hendrick Emsworth. Other names meaning 'house' in English or German also work.

Harry is a werewolf like the ones in Teen Wolf. Explanation for different types is up to the author.

Petunia did not inherit the werewolf gene like Lily did but she still raised Harry as a werewolf, teaching him control in the ancestral home in Hampshire, England.

Begins in the Goblet of Fire while no one knows Harry is a werewolf. Must be between the Quidditch World Cup and Halloween (when champions were chosen).

The first task brings Harry up against a partial pack of five werewolves, revealing that Harry is a werewolf. The Hale/McCall pack (members at any point in time) is the pack that Harry faces.

Rather than Ron returning to being Harry's friend, he and Hermione turn against him.

The second challenge remains the same.

The third challenge remains the same.

After the Goblet of Fire, Harry leaves Hogwarts for any reasons to do anything.

Weasley bashing (not twins or Charlie)

 **Guidelines**

(fem)Slash

Fem!Harry

Any pairings save Harry/any Weasley are welcome

Nice!Dursleys

Remus is closely involved

 **Forbidden**

Harry/any Weasley

Harry not being a werewolf

Anything going against the rules above.

* * *

Deep down, Halstead knew that no alias could protect him from what was coming. There was no way to stop that goblet from glowing and beginning to shoot fiery pieces of paper into the air like petite fireworks, no way to stop the fourth little firework from exploding from the goblet like all its predecessors and no way to delay the inevitable reading of the name printed in cold block letters on the piece of paper: Harry Potter.

Halstead wasn't fond of the name, much preferring the slight complexity of his true name, the name chosen by his mother at his own naming ceremony.

Yet that was aside the point.

Spurting sparks of glowing blue fire at the front of the Great Hall was the Goblet of Fire, a relic enchanted by Norse druids and stolen by English wizards. The goblet was carved from wood of an old and powerful oak tree, giving it some degree of power. It was around three feet tall and carved with intricate designs. In the long years since having been stolen, the wizards had carved it down further so that the neck was akin to a crown growing from the wood. Around a third of the goblet remained as it had been originally, dark and uneven wood holding the power of the aged oak tree it had been carved from. The lip of the goblet had runes carved to it, adding to the goblets power and partially making up for the wood carved away.

A frown marred Halstead's normally clear features. "Bleeding fear of the dark," he muttered under his breath.

"Oh hush, Harry," the brunette sitting across from him, Hermione, scolded. "The goblet's about to choose! Oh this is so exciting."

Groaning, Halstead hid his face among his arms as a tell-tale 'whoosh!' brought forth the first of the Tri-Wizard Champions.

"The champion for Durmstrang," Headmaster Dumbledore read out in a voice firm before the other schools, "is Viktor Krum!" Cheers rose into the air like sparks of bright colours cast from false wands. The roar of applause sweeping through the Great Hall drowned out all of the chatter that was likely taking place. Krum rose to his feet from the Slytherin table where he had been seated, walking towards the extra room juts off from the Great Hall with a slight hint of clumsiness Halstead knew as something that came only to a person more comfortable flying through air than walking on the firm ground. Viciously loud to his sensitive ears, Headmaster Karkaroff joined with a shout of his delight.

Mere seconds after the applause and cheering died off, the fire within the goblet shot forth another slip of paper with a name written in an intricate penmanship.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!" Dumbledore shouted in the same tone as before. And again, the cheers rose into the air though this time accompanied by wolf whistles from the hormonal teenagers filling the Great Hall. As Delacour made her way between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, Halstead took note of the grace of a dancer from an early age, something only acquired in a few disciplines. Somehow he had a hard time believing that Delacour, a dainty French girl from a wealthy family, would bring herself to as dangerous of activities as any form of martial arts. Halstead's own disciplines of stick fighting, more accurately _bataireacht_ and _arnis_ , and any form of fist fighting that he could pick up during his summer training sessions with Uncle William, Cousin Alberta and Cousin Magnus.

Halstead was really beginning to wonder if he was ADHD.

Finally, the goblet spat forth a tongue of blue flames spiralling into read as it grew higher, delivering the final slip of paper into Dumbledore's waiting and wrinkled hand. Carefully, he unfolded the simple piece of parchment. A smile as wide as the Great Hall split over his face as he read out the should-be final name. "The champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!" Before said teen's last name had even been read out, the cheers went from polite to a deafening roar that filled Halstead's ears with an unpleasant thrum. All that was left to do was wait for the final name to be spat from the Goblet of Fire to Dumbledore's surprised hand and to be read out to the absolute horror of everyone in...

"Excellent!" Dumbledore roared as the last cheers died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-"

Even with his head in his arms, Halstead knew what had happened. A final column of flames borne from the goblet would be dancing before Dumbledore now, a final slip of parchment on it to be snatched with automatic fingers and then finally read out to fill the room with horror.

"Harry Potter!"

Within the few seconds between the name being read and every head turning to gaze at Halstead, a cricket chirped somewhere near by. Automatic and terrified, Halstead slowly lifted his head and rose to his feet. _No emotions,_ he reminded himself. _No show of fear or confusion or anything else. Don't stumble and don't glide either. Be what blank._

His feet dragged across the stone floor like the marching step of pirates awaiting execution in a scene out of _Pirates of the Caribbean_. His shoulders were hunched into himself slightly as every gaze in the entire hall rested on him and him alone. It was enough to make anyone panic.

What had once been hushed murmurs became a cacophony of noise.

"Cheater! Liar! Scum!" Voices seemed to scream at him. "And he expected it, too! Probably placed his name in that goblet and was just waiting for it! That should have been my spot and now _precious Potter_ is up there stealing all the glory once again."

If his eyes hadn't been glowing before, they probably were now, thankfully hidden beneath green contacts. The golden light was likely supressed by the thin layer of plastic that allowed Harry to remain hidden. Instantly nervous, Halstead ducked his head down in hopes of hiding the features he knew would soon be shifting.

 _Now,_ he thought, _is a time for a mantra. Or claws in palms. But that would be too late._

Halstead mentally ran over the House of Emsworth mantra, a proverb from their Norse ancestors. _My name is not my own. It is borrowed from my ancestors. I must return it unstained. My honour is not my own. It is on loan from my descendants. I must return it unbroken. Our blood is not our own. It is a gift to generations yet unborn. We should carry it with responsibility._

His footsteps stumbled on the hard ground as panic continued to rise up his throat, heart beating to the pounding of African drums. _My name is not my own, my honour is not my own, our blood is not our own._

Rumours had begun to spread of a particularly effective mantra adopted by a Buddhist pack in California, a mantra that seemed to work with every bitten wolf no matter how angry they became but Halstead wasn't a bitten wolf and he wasn't angry oh he was so scared and he couldn't think, the sounds were pouring into his brain and drowning out all thought and-

His mind shifted. Hands in tight fists, Halstead dug each claw into the palms of his hand. _"Pain keeps you human,"_ Uncle Will had told him. _"Wolves rule over pain, humans bow to it. Bow to the pain, Halley, and remain human."_ He'd smiled at his nephew with sharpened canine teeth, allowing the wolf within him to congratulate his pup. His hair had been ruffled before the elder wolf had returned to his book.

 _Almost there,_ his thoughts betrayed his emotions. A drop of blood dripped through his knuckles, dripping to the floor with a soft _plop_ that could have been heard a thousand kilometers away. He ducked through the door, greeted by the quiet warmth of a small room.

Already within, the true champions glanced up at him curiously. Krum had been gazing at the fire scornfully while Delacour had been speaking with Diggory.

"What eez it?" Delacour demanded. "Do zey want us back in zee 'All?"

Halstead's eyes landed on her coolly. "I'm not an owl."

Pounding hearts, faster than Halstead's own, beat from behind. A moment later, people rushed into the room led by Ludo Bagman, the rather presumptuous man grabbing Halstead's arm and dragging him forward. The urge to growl was near overwhelming.

Calculated green eyes landed on Bagman as Halstead snatched his arm back, curving hands into fists. "Do you know the feeling of wanting to rip a throat out?"

Bagman grinned at Halstead with cheer. "Why yes, my dear boy, I do. Every time I watch and English quidditch game, actually. Bloody hell, that te-"

"That's the feeling I have right now."

Ignored once again. ""Extraordinary!" he muttered. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen... lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce, incredible as it may seem, the fourth Triwizard champion!"

Halstead sighed. "That statement is rather ridiculous. Tri implies three... so care to tell me why I'm standing here rather than eating my dinner?"

"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. "E cannot compete. 'E eez too young."

"Damn right, Delacour."

A group of professors hustled in the door. Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Maxime, Snape and McGonagall all included. The organizer of the tournament, Mr. Crouch, joined them.

It was a matter of minutes before the Headmasters' and Headmistress were at each other's throats over Halstead. Professor Snape certainly wasn't helping the situation, rather provoking it quite a bit. _My name is not my own, my honour is not my own, our blood is not our own._ A roar went up from each of the three entering parties. Occasionally, Halstead would make a comment. Largely, he remained silent in hopes of not provoking the wolf.

What felt like hours later, Halstead had exhausted his mantra and been ordered off to bed.

"So," Diggory offered up as they left the second room for the Great Hall. "We're playing against each other!" He sounded all too excited. Perhaps that quidditch match the previous year _had_ gone to his head.

Halstead nodded slightly.

"So... tell me..." grinned Diggory as they reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. "How did you get your name in?"

"I don't suppose you of all people would believe me but I didn't. Watch out for the First Task. It'll involve a beast of sorts, possibly multiple. I did my research over the summer. Something more is at stake this time, though. Perhaps even our humanity."

As the Entrance Hall, they split ways to their respective Common Rooms.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading this and please leave a giving me comments and suggestions for how to improve this. If you read the challenge, you know that I need to choose members of the Hale/McCall pack for Halstead to face so, if possible, make a few suggestions for that.**


	2. Chapter 2: Ash

Halstead's days often began with an expression of surprise or horror. Examples included statements such as ichane, crap or balderdash. Following the expression of absolute horror often came the intense need to speak to what remained of his pack. So every morning he would pull himself from his cozy beden (his den, really. But as it was technically a bed...) to plod to the owlery, hoping to find that his falcon, Merchant, had returned with a letter from his family. While most students had owls, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Will had flat out refused a creature as proud and downright _irritating_ as an owl, hence the equally prideful merlin that seemed to be eternally loyal. Like a wolf. No wonder Uncle Will had been so fond of the bird.

That morning, Halstead was gifted with a letter from his dearest cousins Alberta and Magnus:

 _My darling cousin Halley,_ the pair had written. _Straight to the point, the First Task in that dreaded tournament is to go against a pack of werewolves- the_ Wechslers _, thankfully. We're estimating around five wolves from each pack, most likely from the elder families like us. I've heard talk of the Kolton's joining in the fun, along with the Hale's. Magnus agrees with me that trying to fight your way through would be a bad idea,_ here Halstead snorted, _so we're both thinking that respectfully traditional is the way to go. Hope you end up against the Hale's. We have a connection with them in the fact that our packs were wiped out in unprovoked attacks from Hunters. Your darling cousins, Alberta and Magnus_

Despite the lack of personal information on school and their most recent enemies, Halstead smiled at the letter. It was always good to hear from the red-haired siblings in one way or another.

Alberta was a broad girl of sixteen years with fiery red hair, a trademark of the Emsworth's that had skipped Halstead, and large eyes the colour of sapphire gems. Despite her wide shoulders and firm strength, Alberta lacked the height that Magnus was to possess.

Unlike his elder sister, Magnus was a lanky and thin boy of fifteen. His red hair glowed like candlelight unlike the forest fire that belonged to his sister and he possessed the gentle, copper eyes of his father. For what he lacked in brute strength, he made up for in agility.

By no means was Halstead the medium; he was smaller than both siblings at around 5'4 with soft ebony hair that was blue in some light, eyes the colour of beauteous emeralds, speckles of jade dotting his iris'. Unlike his cousins, Halstead relied on agility alone.

Halstead was particularly nervous that morning at breakfast. The night before he'd sensed the arrival of twenty or so other wolves on the Hogwarts grounds. It was almost a sudden, intimidating presence of predators, as though over the course of a few seconds Halstead had gone from hunter to hunted, predator to prey.

Which, in a way, he had. While he had a pack, admittedly small in size, they were not with him at Hogwarts. No, Alberta and Magnus attended an elite private school near the family home in Hampshire while Uncle Will worked as a biology professor at the community college. At Hogwarts, Halstead was on his own. Now he was alone with wolves practically circling him, hoping for their next meal.

At breakfast, Halstead found himself unable to stomach more than a few pieces of toast and a glass of orange juice. The other Gryffindor's, a motley sort of all ages and ethnicities who had only one thing in common, were avoiding Halstead like a plague. It was as though his lack of appetite was just a symptom of a contagious disease.

He snorted at the thought. Werewolves didn't get sick.

Calm had never been one of Halstead's strong suits; before his first block, Herbology, he had a minor panic attack and had ditched the remainder of his classes for a long stroll out near the Black Lake. After lunch, Halstead found enough calm within him to inform Diggory of what was happening.

As the sixth year's bag split as he made his way to Transfiguration, he ushered his friends ahead just as Halstead had hoped. Diggory knelt to begin picking up his books and Halsted moved to his side to help.

"Hi," Diggory informed as he picked up _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_. "My bag just split… Brand-new and all."

Halstead glared at him. "Look, Diggory, I don't like you but you don't deserve to die any more than Krum, Delacour or me. They've brought in a pack of werewolves five strong for each of us."

Gazing at the deep, grey eyes, Halstead could recognize a growing fear in them, a belief that all was lost. Halstead hurried on. "Anyways, I'll tell you something they don't know. These guys have super-healing, super-senses, super-speed, super-strength and I'm pretty sure that some of them have ESP, too. Don't fight, talk."

A moment later, Halstead was gone.

* * *

While Halstead's days often began with expressions of horror, he was equally inclined to be an absolute grouch when things weren't going his way, which they weren't. Sitting in the tent along with the other three champions, Ludo Bagman, irritatingly dressed in his old quidditch uniform once again, waltzed into the room with a smile wide enough to fit a tennis racket in.

(Somehow Halstead found it more likely that he would be stuffing wolfsbane down his throat, along with a rather choice mixture of natural poisons. Yellow Monkshood, Trailing White Monkshood, apple seeds, mango tree sap. All sorts of poisonous plants combined in an unappealing mixture that would, hopefully, kill the irritating wizard before anyone knew what was happening. Sadly, that wouldn't work because of the surrounding people but Halstead could dream on.)

The man began chattering incessantly about the First Task; it was to take place in a newly built arena with inner walls of around twenty feet tall surrounded by seating areas for the excited students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, along with visiting officials and parents from all across the world; the inner arena was surrounded by a firm ring of mountain ash, the natural repellent to any supernatural creature while the arena itself consisted of both high and low grounds, a rocky outcrop around seven feet above the ground being where a box made of rowan wood sat with something within, something that would allow the champion to prepare for the next task; each champion would be fighting a pack of _Wechslers_ , otherwise known as Changers though the term referred to any werewolf who could control the shift, five strong, the goal being to attain the rowan wood box.

Upon hearing of the rowan wood box, Halstead winced and rubbed at his forehead. Catching the slightly worried glance Diggory shot his way, Halstead spoke up. "You've made an immense mistake. You haven't accounted for the fact that Magical Schools are open to those of other species as well. For example, Delacour over there would be killed by the merpeople if she went for a swim in the lake. If Delacour or myself tries to step over that line of mountain ash, we'll be instantly thrown back. Not to mention retrieval of your box is physically impossible for me."

Diggory gave him an odd look, tossing the words aside as just another part of Halstead's strangeness. Krum frowned at him with bushy eyebrows, face twisting in confusion, quite near begging an explanation.

Rolling his eyes, Halstead continued. "Look, mountain ash is a repellent against supernatural creatures. Some would argue that the ability to use magic makes one a supernatural creature, but being a witch or wizard is considered to be a mutation in the supernatural world. The scent of a witch or wizard is indistinguishable from that of the ordinary muggle, exceptions made for the natural scent of an individual."

The eyes resting on him remained unflickering for a long moment. It was akin to the moment in a movie or television show where a comment was made, followed by absolute silence and the chirp of a cricket. It was Delacour who broke the silence.

"Zah leetle boy eez correct," she said with her thick, French accent. The words were slightly awkward coming off her tongue; Halstead understood the awkwardness of his words for his Spanish was much the same. Unlike Delacour, Halstead was fluent in a few different languages: English, German, Gaelic and Spanish; the latter was clumsy. "Zough I know leettle of zis _mountain ash_."

Nodding his thanks at Delacour, Halstead rested his ethereal emerald orbs on Bagman. "Explain to me how we'll get through that barrier. Be it in or out."

* * *

 **Once again, please drop a review that preferably includes suggestions about the members of the McCall Pack that Halstead has to face. I'm currently thinking Scott, Derek, Liam, Lydia and Stiles, though I may put Malia in there instead of someone else. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3: Collared Insults

**Happy Moon-day! More or less, anyways. It's around 2am on the East Coast and around 20 hours until the next episode and here is the next chapter. Sorry to those of you who were expecting an epic fight; that's just not Halley's style. Enjoy!**

* * *

In the end, they had the mountain ash barrier removed to allow both the wolf packs and competitors easier access to and from the arena. That bumbling idiot, Bagman, had taken a while to cave and only done so when he'd realized that the First Task was supposed to have begun around ten minutes before, deciding that the Task itself was more important than having a silly magical barrier to 'make the Task interesting'. In reality, such a barrier would have constricted movement. The tactics of a pack of werewolves always had the same two sources- speed and agility or strength and force. Halstead thought the whole matter was silly; boredom was just as deadly to a werewolf as it was to a human.

The rowan wood boxes were transfigured to oak a few minutes later and the Task was going forward as normally as it could have been. Naturally, Bagman was irritated that nothing was going according to plan.

The old git. Dumbledore too.

Twenty minutes the original time for the Task, Bagman pulled out a silk bag. "Within this bag," he said with a voice intended to be mysterious, "are figures representing the werewolf pack that each of you will be facing. Each pack is five members strong and as normal as a pack of werewolves can be. The first pack is called the Silver Fur Pack. Small, and old pack. Up next are the Vilkas Pack, one of the oldest known. It's not uncommon for a wolf's children to be raised on stories about them- fierce yet honourable warriors who respect tradition highly. There's the Hale-McCall Pack which is unorthodox and American and finally the Kolton Pack. Ladies first."

Bagman offered the back to Delacour.

"Sir," Halstead interrupted calmly. "You said you tried to get _normal_ packs? The ones least likely to bite us for existing?"

The idiot nodded confirmation.

"You chose the wrong packs then. Admittedly, I've never heard of the Silver Fur Pack but the Vilkas are known as the most dangerous pack out there. Werewolves raise their cubs on stories about them. And the Hale Pack _was_ normal until the Hale Massacre that killed almost the entire pack leaving a pair of heartbroken teens and a psychotic, comatose uncle. Now they're a pack of werewolves, werecoyotes, ex-alphas, ex-hunters, kitsune, banshees and God knows what else. The Kolton's are actually an English pack- I've met them on a few notable occasions. They're the only ones I can safely call normal."

Halstead glared at Bagman with his chin jutted forwards slightly. He egged the man onwards.

The quidditch-robed man let out a huffing sigh. "Well, Mr. Potter, I don't see you _you_ could possibly know all that about werewolf packs. After all, you're just a boy. Be quiet and let Delacour choose her pack." Once again, he offered the bag to Delacour.

The beautiful part-veela tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, eyes sparkling as one of her slim and dainty hands reached forwards. Within a moment, Delacour drew her hand back, opening her closed first palm upwards to reveal a small wolf figurine with silver fur and immense golden eyes. The wolf cocked it's head the side before sniffing at Delacour's hand. There was a tag around it's neck, like a collar, with a '2' on it. Halstead found the collar somewhat upsetting.

Unnoticed by all, Halstead's eyes glowed their brilliant golden-yellow hue. That morning he had not placed the green contacts over his almond-shaped eyes.

"The Silver Fur Pack," Bagman said with a large smile. "An excellent pick. Now Mr. Diggory, care to choose a pack?"

Diggory was more hesitant than Delacour. He shakily mussed his dark gold hair before extending his hand and reaching into the bag. A long moment later, Diggory, too, drew back his hand and revealed a figurine that easily fit into the palm of his hands. His wolf was coal black light the night sky with unblinking golden eyes gazing up at him. The wolf sat down. This wolf's collar has a '1' upon the tag.

Eyes continuing to glow, Halstead examined the wolf curiously for a moment.

"The Kolton Pack, another great choice, Mr. Diggory. Next up is Mr. Krum, I believe?"

With his jaw set in a firm scowl, Krum reached into the bag. His shaved head tilted downwards to gaze at the bag, a curious expression adorning his face. He drew back his hand and opened his fist to reveal the largest yet of the wolf figurines. This wolf had dark gray fur and a white mark adorning its forehead. The right eye glowed the same shade of blue as Delacour's eyes and the left eye the same golden-yellow as Halstead's. A '3'.

"Vilkas Pack, that one will certainly be interesting. And finally..."

Halstead rolled his golden eyes before locking them on the bag. With the least hesitance of them all, Halstead plunged his hand into the bag and pulled it back within the second, revealing a lithe wolf with tawny fur sitting in his palm. His fur was streaked with a darker shade of brown and when it glanced up at Halstead, panting happily, it's eyes were large and silver with a ring of red surrounding each iris. Halstead's wolf had a '4' on it's neck.

"... The Hale-McCall Pack. Real nice, their youngest."

Bagman glanced up to meet Halstead's eyes, letting out a yelp of horror. "My dear boy, what on Earth has happened to your eyes?"

Horror instantly exploded in Halstead. His lower lip trembled and face twisted into a pout as he gazed at Bagman. "They- they're not blue, are they?" The wolf in his hand was forgotten as he gazed at Bagman with his big almond eyes. Around him, Halstead could sense the other Champions falling into varying states of shock at the bright and strange hue of his eyes. Krum seemed to fall into a silent shock while Delacour was the most amusing. Diggory quite near dropped the wolf in his hands.

"Everyzing about zis boy eez impossibleu!" She snapped, hands flying up around her as though she were a baby bird trying to learn how to fly. "Vhy are 'iz eyes yellow! Zhat eez unnatural!"

Under normal circumstances, Halstead would have snapped out a, "And being a veela _isn't_?" but this time he just glared at her.

"Well Bagman?" He hissed in irritation and horror. "What colour are my eyes?!"

He stammered out a response.

Waves of relief instantly swept over Halstead, presumably calming the intense chemo signals of fear and upset. The scents were probably quite irritating to another wolf, possibly even rubbing off onto them and encouraging them to be scared and upset as well. In the back of his mind, the feeling of pack became concerned. Slowly, the young wolf relaxed as the pack soothed him.

That was why most, if not all, omegas went crazy; the bond between pack members was unbelievably strong to the point where any member of a pack, be they human or werewolf or something entirely different, could feel the other's emotions in the back of their mind. The overall contentment of the Pack Bond was a werewolf pack's version of heaven on earth. The bond was something thrumming inside of him, like a second heart beating in tune with his own. The deep and thrumming purr echoed through Halstead's veins with the raw power that was a pack. An omega, particularly one who had had a pack before, went mad from not feeling them with him.

Yet another idiot interrupted the conversation. "Why Mr. Bagman, what on Earth is taking so long? Harry my dear boy! Your eyes!"

Halstead scowled at Dumbledore's words. "Her's turn red when she goes veela! And she grows feathers! I can't have yellow eyes?! And can we get going already?" Halstead checked the watch on his wrist. "We were supposed to begin twenty-five minutes ago. And for God's sake, Dumbledore, don't call me Harry!"

A cannon sounded outside the tent before Dumbledore could make a retort. Diggory straightened slightly, preparing to leave the tent and begin his Task. Bagman gave a nod and Diggory entered the arena. His head was held high, clear gray eyes focused on the Task ahead. In his hand was his wand, the notches carved in the handle cradled in the palm of his hand.

The tent seemed to be charmed against allowing noise; Halstead was sure that the Kolton alpha, Sebastian Kolton, had a booming yet gentle voice. His wife was a slightly quieter wolf named Bonnie; when Halstead had met her, the motherly woman had shaken his hand warmly, saying in a loud voice, "It's so nice to meet you, Halley dear." She was slightly like the Weasley matriarch from what Halstead knew from their unfortunate meeting.

Around ten minutes later, the second cannon sounded and Delacour entered the arena. While the tent was charmed against allowing noise in during the Tasks, it clearly wasn't charmed against allowing light in. Shortly after Delacour began her Task the tent was lit up by what appeared to be a fireball, bathing them all in fiery red light. Halstead winced, hoping that no member of the pack the blonde teen was fighting had been injured. Most wolves weren't fond of getting close to fire, part of the instinct for survival they received with the bite.

Delacour's task took around 20 minutes, the third cannon signalling Krum's entry to the arena around five after that. This Task was over within minutes, going up in flames. The proverbial flames seemed to destroy Krum, different shades of red, orange and yellow lapping over him like tongues of an immense creature.

It wouldn't have been surprising to Halstead if Krum ended up grievously wounded from his five minutes in the arena. The Vilkas Pack was best known for their prowess in all forms of combat and their traditionalism.

At long last, the final cannon boomed and Halstead entered the arena with his wand in a pocket and his head held high.

The arena was essentially a pile of rocks; rocky outcroppings stuck out from the sides while large boulders dotted the small landscape to create 'hiding places' and shelter. Honestly, did the term _werewolf_ mean nothing to these people? Halstead mentally berated himself for the stupid question. Of course it didn't, they were bigoted wizards.

For something that was 'essential to complete the next task', the oak box did not look like much. It was around a foot long, nine inches wide. There was a latch holding it closed and had deeply etched lines forming a drawing along the sides.

Alpha of the Hale-McCall Pack, Scott McCall was not as impressive as he looked. The teenaged boy was about three years older than Halstead. He had brown hair that was fluffy, styled upwards that the front and large brown doe eyes (wolf eyes, more accurately). His jaw was slightly crooked and he had yet to wolf out. Alpha McCall sat atop one of the boulders with one of his betas at his feet.

This werewolf had short blonde hair sticking up in a style somewhat akin to his alphas paired with piercing silver eyes. He was easily more intimidating than Alpha McCall even though he was clearly much younger. In the centre of the arena was a second beta, a tall man with dark hair and stubble decorating his chin. His eyes glowed ferociously blue and he had fully wolfed out. A third beta didn't quite seem to be a werewolf but stood slightly off to one side of the wolfed out werewolf. Her eyes, too, glowed blue in the arena while her hair tumbled to her shoulders in a glossy curtain. The final member of the pack was blatantly human, moles covering his neck and face in constellations and brown hair near identical to Alpha McCall's.

The alpha was strangely intimidating considering he was sitting on a small boulder cross-legged with a beta resting his head upon his alpha's thigh. The beta, considering how scary his alpha was, seemed surprisingly calm, almost half-asleep, as his alpha soothed fingers over his hair with a fond smile. Somehow knowing how under-his-thumb the beta was made Alpha McCall more terrifying.

Hesitance now clearly evident in his step, Halstead continued forward until he stood around ten feet away from Alpha McCall.

"Hi," he announced. "This is going to be an _unbelievably_ awkward conversation, but hi."

A smile fluttered along the alpha's face. "Hi. I'm Scott. This," he pat the beta's head, "is Liam, the grouchy one is Derek, behind him is Malia and Stiles is the human. Who are you?"

"Halstead Emsworth of the Red Wolf Pack." A ripple of surprise whispered through the arena's seating areas, his voice evidently being projected to the crowd.

Derek, the grouchy man in wolf form, stiffened at the name of Halstead's pack. "Red Wolf. As in the massacre back in '99? The pack that did no wrong yet was still murdered?"

Halstead tipped his head to the side, gazing at Derek with a new curiosity. "You're a Hale, aren't you. I'm sorry about your pack."

"And you," Derek replied.

The human, Stiles, seemed to find the exchange curious. "I take it you're the wolf everyone's been talking about?"

Now grinning a smile that was easily a mile wide, Halstead flashed his normally emerald eyes golden-yellow at the wolves before glancing up at the crowd to show off the eyes glowing with innocence. The look on the faces of the crowd were fantastic. A Hufflepuff boy with his house scarf stumbled back so quickly he tripped over the bench, falling back onto the Patil sisters who sat side-by-side, the only way to tell them apart their respective house scarves. The judges at one end up the arena were scribbling away furiously, Karkaroff's chemo signals of disgust and horror reaching Halstead with ease. Somehow the ebony-haired boy knew he wouldn't be getting very good marks for this assignment.

"Speaking of which," the words tumbled out of his mouth, "how many wolves are there?"

Alpha McCall titled his head slightly to the side, smiling faintly. "Two-hundred, I think. All twenty of the Silver Furs, all thirty of the Vilkas, all twenty-five of the Koltons, all four weres in my pack, and around a hundred-and-twenty from assorted packs. It's like a big werewolf convention now."

Halstead smiled slightly at that. "Wow. I was off by a bit. I really hate to ask, Alpha McCall, but can I get the box now?"

The first True Alpha in at least one hundred years smiled and nodded. "Just explain the 'Alpha McCall' thing after, please."

Grinning his assurance, Halstead swept past the other wolves and snatched up the box, leaving the arena with a slight bow.


	4. Chapter 4: Orphan

In the end, the judges awarded Halstead thirty-two points; apparently talking didn't make for that great of a show. Krum received the most points, confronting the alpha of the Vilkas Pack, Elias Vilkas, and promptly firing stunning spells at the werewolf in quick succession. By summoning his broom previously, he'd managed to avoid getting torn apart but had barely escaped with his life. Delacour came in second, having used her Veela powers to stun the Silver Furs into submission; it was only the speed that she possessed that kept her alive. Strangely enough, Diggory who had ended up having a kind chat with the Kolton's had come in third; Halstead could hear the pack conversing about Diggory. Halstead had been in last, golden eyes apparently scaring the crap out of Hogwarts.

Honestly, they were just eyes.

By the time the whole 'show' had been toned down so that everyone was drifting off, Halstead had convinced Dumbledore to allow the two hundred _Wechslers_ to stay in the castle for the few days that they would remain at the castle. The Room of Requirement, Halsted suggested, would make an excellent place for the rowdy group to stay. Minutes later, a Kolton cub named Edward Kolton, dragged him off to say hello to the other Kolton cubs.

Halstead was quite fond of the group and hence went along, laughing and punching the shoulders of Brian, Patricia, Tyler and Robin. Edward was the eldest of the cousins at fourteen while his younger brother, Tyler, was thirteen. Pat and Robin were the ten year old twins largely in charge of their seven year old brother, Brian.

Brian tugged at his hand, gazing up at Halstead with large chocolate eyes as he led him towards Sebastian Kolton, Brian's uncle and the alpha of the Kolton Pack.

"Halley," he greeted in the booming voice.

Halstead winced. "Please, Mr. Kolton, if you must speak so loudly no nicknames please?"

The middle aged man winced slightly but smiled down at Halstead with gentle eyes in apology. "Sorry Halley," he said in a much smaller voice. "I'm so used to everyone knowing what I say no matter how loudly I say it! Anyways, that's not the point. Anyways, that Diggory boy. I take it you were the one who told him to talk to us?" A nod of confirmation. "Good; the lad did his research. Tried to understand our traditions and all that. We're thinking of offering him the bite." Halstead raised an eyebrow at that, considering the idea.

"I suppose I can imagine Diggory as a 'wolf. He's got the chivalry to be a good packmate."

"Watcha think he'd say?" Sebastian prompted.

For a long minute, Halstead considered. "I think he's too brainwashed to agree right now. Give him time to understand what being a _Wechsler_ means and he might agree."

"So maybe?"

"Time, Mr. Kolton, time."

* * *

Sitting down for dinner that evening, Halstead got a lot of questions:

"You're a werewolf?"

"How did you hide the full moons?"

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"What are full moons like?"

"Your name is _Halstead_?!"

Rolling his eyes, Halstead ignored the questions for each was pointless to explain; witches and wizards believed in one type of werewolf that was akin to a sickly creature because of the suppressed wolf within. Aside from those that the moon forced to turn, _Gedwongen_ , there were _Wechslers_ who could transform at will with enough practice, a group called the Full-Wolves who could only transform into immense wolves and finally a group forced to change on full moons that looked like slightly large teddy bears.

He sat next to Edward at dinner, conversing in Edward's native language of German. They discussed the different packs, namely the pack of Scott McCall, a group that had spread out. The Slytherin's had taken a liking to Malia and Derek whilst Lydia sat amongst the Ravenclaw's with an immense smile, clearly chattering away about something intellectual.

Liam seemed to be enjoying a discussion with one of the Vilkas' cubs, Chaise. Quite frankly Halstead was surprised that the brunette wolf had yet to rip the blonde's head off.

Vilkas' did that a lot.

 _"What do you think of the McCalls?"_ Edward had asked in his native language.

For a long minute, Halstead considered what to say. _"I'm not sure yet,"_ he replied in well-spoken German. _"They seem nice enough, one of the packs that I wouldn't be opposed to being part of."_

 _"Halley, there are a lot of those packs."_

"You go by Halley?" A curious Gryffindor sitting nearby said.

 _"Edward, I swear if you don't stop with the nicknames I will murder you in your sleep."_

 _"You wouldn't dare my darling pack-ally. Gold eyes, remember?"_

Halstead growled at the other.

"Oh my God!" A muggleborn fifth year shrieked. "Are you Edward Cullen?!"

 _"I liked my name before that book was published,"_ Edward grumbled in an understandably irritated voice. _"The name Edward was once of great honour, the name of kings such as in Narnia! Now it is all "Oh Edward, do you sparkle? My name means-"_

 _"Death, destroyer of worlds?"_ Halstead offered innocently.

Edward gave him 'The Look', face a mask of irritation and puppy dog eyes. _"No you idiot, wealthy guardian! I was born an alpha, one day I will be the alpha. And, yes, the Kolton's are very well to do."_

 _"Yes, you will be alpha_ after _your father dies."_

 _"That is a complication,"_ Edward replied with a huffing sigh.

Towards the other end of the Gryffindor table, Chaise Vilkas was gesturing towards Edward and Halstead, a slight grin lighting up the dark-haired teen's face. Halstead rolled his eyes at the pair, gesturing them over. "Eyy, Chaise, Liam! Get over here! We'll even choose a common language!"

Chaise called back in English, a slight accent to his bright voice. "Emsworth, I would have ripped your throat out if you hadn't said that." His teeth were fangs, lengths of sharp white enamel. Like most wolves did, he lisped around the fangs as he stood and made his way over, Liam following him hesitantly. "Then I would have ripped Kolton's throat out with my claws."

Tisking, Edward replied. "Honestly Vilkas, you threaten people far too much."

"Ah, but we are _Wechslers_. There is a difference."

Previously silent, Liam spoke up. "You lot'll have to explain that one." He slipped into the seat next to Halstead.

"Weres who shift at will," Edward said.

"Changers," Chaise said.

"You," Halstead said.

* * *

That night, he woke up screaming. Admittedly, Halstead wasn't a banshee and hence his scream was far from the ear-piercing shriek that would wake every supernatural creature in a hundred mile radius, but it was certainly enough to wake the eighty-five wolf cubs staying in the same sound-proofed room. The first one to wake, an eight-year-old girl from the Rodriguez Pack down in Mexico, immediately started screaming along with him, successfully waking even more of the other wolves. Izzy, a brunette twelve-year-old from the Juarez Pack (in Mexico), jolted awake and scrambled into fighting position screaming, "Where's the enemy!"

Edward yawned and rolled over, pulling little Brian closer to him and continuing to snore on.

Naturally, at this point Halstead was still screaming his head off and beginning to claw at his chest with his actual werewolf claws extended. Liam, who Halstead had curled up next to the night before, was making firm attempts to awaken the wolf next to him and prevent him from clawing his own chest apart. Scott McCall, the only alpha who had stayed in the room under the claim that a bunch of children, preteen and teenaged werewolves needed _someone_ to keep them from tearing each other apart and make sure they actually fell asleep at some point, was helping Liam pull the younger wolf's claws to the ground and pin them there.

They eventually succeeded though not before Halstead's chest was near being ribbons.

"Eyy, calm down," Alpha McCall ordered the younger wolf. "I got him, can you grab the Kolton Alpha?"

"Got it," Robin Kolton said. She darted off with her blonde hair flying out behind her.

Moments later, the petite she-wolf returned with her uncle in tow, the immense alpha rubbing his eyes sleepily. Sebastian muttered something, probably a curse in German, under his breath. "He woke up like this?" He asked in the large voice the Kolton's had become known for in long years of shouting their heads off.

Alpha McCall nodded, slamming Halstead's hand back down for it had crept towards his chest once again. "What the _hell_ is happening to him?!" The words held a tone of anger, worry and impatience that didn't fit the kind persona the youngest alpha held. "I can deal with psychotic Hales and Argents! This doesn't work for me!" He looked ready to tear his own hair out from confusion. Sebastian had an aura of amusement and worry, having known Halstead his entire life and not understanding the strange reaction that had been elicited from the petite beta before him.

"Pass him to me?" Sebastian requested, preparing himself to take the wolf he had been requested to keep an eye on by his mother. "No, never mind. He's shifting. I need you to howl at him!"

"What, _me_?!

"My packs bigger short stuff, it'll freak more out."

For a moment, Alpha McCall stood there stammering. "Now, Scott!"

The eerie sound echoed of the walls, calling out the wolf in the rest of his pack. Liam, whose control was slightly iffy in the first place, joined his howl with that of the true alpha as his eyes glowed yellow. Stiles seemed to think that a bunch of werewolves howling was awesome nodded with delight.

A choked sob escaped Halstead's throat as Scott let him up, curling into himself.

The pain, _the fear_ , of so much silence echoing through him broke the dark-haired wolf's heart. The deep and heartening thrum of _pack_ was gone, each wolf in the pack perfectly silent as though each wolf had been torn to pieces with the sharpest of claws. "Where are they?" He whispered, broken.


	5. Chapter 5: Truth

**I am so sorry for the long wait but my summer ended about two weeks ago and I was really into not doing anything productive at that time so I'm a little late on this and all that.**

* * *

Silence. No thrum of pack or soothing emotions seeping through their bond. Nothing. It was as though the small world Halstead had always lived in had been destroyed and not even the Universe was crying out in pain at the loss of the Emsworth Pack. The world was silent, not even Halstead calling out at the loss or screaming in frustration at the unfairness of the world. He was just a single boy not yet old enough to be completely and absolutely alone in the world. Around the room, the other wolves were silent and it only served to make the missing thrum seem so much more prominent. The world of an alpha or beta was never silent, not once in a thousand years.

They _always_ had the comforting thrum of their pack with them, soothing each member to sleep each night like a gentle lullaby and greeting them in the morning like the trills of a thousand songbirds.

Had there been a bond, Halstead was sure it would have been flooding with concern for the ebony-haired wolf from all corners of the bond and yet the wolf sat in his sleeping bag, stunned, as firm arms encircled him and pulled the youth close to a broadened chest.

Sebastian was murmuring something in an unusually soft voice compared his normal boom of thunder. Each syllable blended together to create a smooth slur of consonants and vowels humming in his ear like Bach music playing through earphones and filling his mind with the gentle hum.

He snapped.

Strange, that in this warring state Halstead found the strange peace of understanding. He was an omega now. He was destined to be driven insane by the lack of tactile forces surrounding him in immense bear hugs. The lone wolf never made it on their own, everyone knew that. The chances of an omega being accepted into a new pack was so rare most omegas gave up early and were picked off by the cruel hunters across the globe. They were like flies picked off for being near horses. The reality of a lone wolf was not that of freedom and butterflies but that of guns pointed at them and the eternal loneliness of being the unwanted wolf, the odd one out, forever and an eternity more.

His arms flailed in front of him, making contact with another young wolf and sending the other flying backwards with the strength increased by his panic and anger. One set of claws made contact with someone's arm, batting it away like a kitten playing with string.

A pair of branches made not from wood but solid muscle wrapped around Halstead's chest, pulling him back until he was pressed against someone else's. Still snarling, Halstead writhed under the assault, kicking desperately and twisting back to claw at Sebastian's chest and shoulders.

"Halley," the older wolf intoned in a firm voice. "Calm yourself."

And oh holy Fate he couldn't calm himself. Thoughts raced through his mind at a thousand kilometres an hour, each filled with worry and fear and horror and so many other emotions Halstead couldn't even begin to describe but all with that one searing message- pack. Pack. Life. Family. They were synonyms, in the wolf's mind.

One's pack was their family and family was life. What did a wolf have to live for save for their pack. The pack they would protect until those final moments and the one that would comfort him as he died and soothe all the pain away before he slipped into the oblivion of the afterlife.

There he would meet his ancestors. The ancestors whose name he had borrowed, the one that he was to return unstained.

 _Name, honour, blood. Name, honour, blood._ Oh how the mantra was a never-ending cry. It symbolized his own lack of control, the inability to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth and to soothe his heartbeat into place and to grasp down on the panicking beats and slow them until it was the same steady _badum, badum, badum,_ that it was supposed to be.

Sebastian had managed to curl Halstead towards him so that the wolf had no choice but to inhale the scent of his pack-ally.

Allies were still good, just not the same as pack and alphas were almost as good as pack-allies. Halstead inhaled again, the alpha's scent soothing and placating against the intense fear and panic building up in him.

"They can't be dead."

"Shhh, it's okay Halley," Sebastian offered in bemusement. "No one's hurt, okay? It was just a dream."

"You don't understand!" Halstead snapped in his thick English accent. "You're not connected to them!"

"Hal, your pack has some of the tightest security of all the packs. No one can find your house since your mum warded it and ever since the Massacre of '99 no one's been let in, let alone one with known hunter affiliations. Write Alberta and Magnus a letter and they'll write you back, I swear."

"You're not in my head!"

Alpha McCall crouched at Sebastian's side, a hand resting on the back of Halstead's neck. His fingers rubbed at the pale skin just beneath the sheen of ebony locks, a gentle and calming gesture that did little to soothe the raging wolf. A quickly exchanged glance gave away all there was to know.

"Halstead, I'm going to do the claw thing." The alpha's nails extended to wickedly sharp claws as he traced them to the proper position along Halstead's spine, digging in deep a moment later.

Flashes. Like fire. Cold, dark. Light, warm. Family. Pack. Alpha Bird Mag Tante. Mum, Dad, cousins so many cousins. Gone. Flash bang boom, gone. Death, pain, cold. And slowly it faded. Alpha, Pack, new family. Cousins. And again, nothing.

Pain, cold, fear.

"He's right," Alpha McCall said softly. "There's nothing in the Bond."


	6. Chapter 6: Werewolf's Puddle

**I am so freaking sorry that this took me so long! I also really, really, really want to thank Aidi for reviewing and that comment seriously made my day and it was a really bad one so thank you so so much for it and I wish I'd updated more quickly for you but here it is.**

* * *

Somehow, Halstead had known that breakfast the following morning was to be a disaster. Whispers followed him in the halls, the gossip trembling in his sensitive ears like the beating hands on an animal skin war drum. His motions were antsy and suddenly, despite the surrounding werewolves and wizards alike, the world was entirely too quiet. Liam, the shy American werewolf who'd been turned just a few months before, stayed at his side down the halls, not trying to start a conversation but remaining a comforting presence in a sea of confusion and pain. The other wolf smelled of sadness and perhaps something deeper, a salty tang of grief and confusion.

It was early, perhaps five thirty in the morning yet the castle already seemed to be bustling with life. A group of Ravenclaw second years shrank back from the frowning pair of werewolves as they made their way to the library. Halstead couldn't find it in himself to blame them- he'd had no friends even before the whole world knew that he was a _Wechsler_. There'd never been any need- Halstead kept a written recount of his emotions throughout the day that he continued to log in every day. His mother, Lily Emsworth, had charmed the journal to always remain the same size but have an eternal amount of space and for only he to be able to open it.

Finally, as they approached the Great Hall, Liam broke the uncomfortable silence. "You alright, Halley?"

A slight shake of the head was all the answer Liam was to receive.

The other werewolf just hummed gently and didn't speak again as they entered the Great Hall, snarling slightly at a Slytherin who made some jeer at the pair. Both Crabbe and Goyle shrunk back at the sudden appearance of pointy teeth, looking as though they'd come in close contact with one of the ghosts. Yes. Werewolf, ghost. Same thing. The drawling voice of amusement in Halstead's head didn't help his mood, just reminded him of his sarcastic and drawling cousin Magnus. Alberta always remained a slightly more quiet and calm figure, though often freaked out over various television shows, the most recent being one about two brothers and an angel.

Liam rolled his eyes at the beefy pair of Slytherins, not seeming the least bit concerned for the towering fourth years as Halstead shrunk lower to the ground, tempted to shift into his wolf form to avoid the stares he was receiving.

"Head high, brother," Liam encouraged lightly as he glanced around the room, eyes quickly landing on a red-haired monstrosity sitting at the Gryffindor table between Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, the pair apparently needing something to keep them from kissing every other minute. They'd gotten together a few weeks before and were even more inseparable than they had been before. Halstead had actually thought that such a thing was impossible and having a certain Ron Weasley between them did seem to be preventing anything from happening. That actually made Halstead very happy as he had long since grown tired of listening to them in every hidden corner of the castle.

"Like that pig I think not."

Liam burst out into raucous laughter at his statement causing several more odd looks to be fired their way. "I see your point but mine still holds. Keep your head up and remember to retaliate but also act normal."

"Have you ever fallen into a black hole and gotten up?"

"Yes."

They were now just a few steps from the Gryffindors and Halstead slid onto the bench so that he was sitting across from Dean and Liam across from Ron. "Dean, Ron, Sheamus, this is Liam. Liam, these are my housemates."

Liam gave a slight bow with a grin that was just a little too large for it to be friendly. The fourteen year old wolf looked like a predator. Halstead was half expecting his eyes to flash their welcoming gold but they didn't, instead remaining their steadfast silvery-blue. Halstead felt his own eyes flash their own gold in greeting, his grin just as feral as the other wolf's.

Dean and Seamus exchanged a glance across Ron who just leant back as though preparing to kick his feet up onto the table and give his own feral grin. He didn't though just gazed at the pair of werewolves with a cold remorse that was reflected in his pale blue eyes. The challenge was far from intimidating- he blinked, once, twice, and all intimidation he could have conveyed was lost in the translation from human to wolf. Neither Liam nor Halstead blinked, silver and green eyes respectively gazing into Ron's watery own. Halstead's head was dipped lower to protect his throat whilst Liam left his open to attack, a clear difference between a pack animal and an omega.

In the end they were both pack animals, but one had a family surrounding him no more, just the full-hearted snarls of a half-defeated beast.

Halstead folded his hands neatly on the table and continued to gaze at the other Fourth years in silence.

Finally, Seamus spoke. "Pleasure to meet ya, Liam. Hey, how'd you become a werewolf?"

Liam's grin grew even bigger. "I fell off the hospital."

Ron choked on his most recent bite of toast and was left spluttering over the table with wide blue eyes staring at the werewolf in horror.

The green-eyed wolf at Liam's left burst into laughter. "What happened? You fall in a werewolf's puddle?"

"Nah, Scott caught me."

"With his teeth?"

"Yup."

From behind them, another voice snapped. "That's barbaric!" It was Hermione Granger, one of Halstead's least favourite members of his year. The know-it-all witch had no idea where her bounds lay nor that she did not know everything and didn't even seem to realize that most of her information was useless.

Liam offered a half-hearted shrug. "Better barbaric than dead."

With a snort of laughter, Halstead nodded in agreement.

"Well I suppose it's better you were bitten by one of those half breeds than born one of them," Ron drawled before snatching up his last bite of bacon.

A low snarl built in Halstead's throat and his eyes shifted from their usual green to a bright gold. Liam patted his back gently but joined in the snarling. Claws were growing into Halstead's palm and suddenly all he could think was that this lowly wizard had just insulted his ancestors to the point where it was simply unforgiveable. For the first time, Liam flashed his eyes.

There was a heavy flop on Liam's other side and Alpha McCall glanced at the pair of werewolves. "Oh God. Liam, eyes. What did they say!" Clearly flashy eyes were not a normal for the older wolf.

Reluctant, Liam's eyes returned to silver and he ducked his head shyly at the true alpha. With a sigh, Halstead tightened his fragile control and his eyes returned to green. He kept up a chorus of growls.

Alpha McCall sighed. "Okay, what'd they say."

Liam let out a snarl to punctuate the point. "Called Halley and his entire family half breeds."

"You, if I were allowed I would kill you myself. As it is, I'll leave these two to scare the crap out of you."

Halstead brightened, snarling at Ron.


	7. Chapter 7: Understood

**I'm so sorry that this has taken me this long but I've been kind of caught up in volleyball and that season just ended in a spectacular failure and then we had this huge week of tests and general panic (which I think I did well on) and overall it's just been kind of crazy. So anyways, here's the next chapter.**

* * *

Halstead sat in his dorm room, legs folded neatly beneath him as he tapped his half-weapon half-crosse against the trunk at the foot of his bed. His ebony hair had been freshly washed, a streak of dark orange freshly died into the ride side of his hair. It was the colour of cooling coals in a dying fire, the exact colour that Alberta's hair had remained in a shiny wash that grew down to pitch black at the tips of her mid back length hair she constantly kept tied up in a Dutch crown braid. The be-speckled werewolf adored her flowing long hair but never had been able to deal with it dangling down her back and so pulled it up in the perfected dark braid.

Merchant, the loyal falcon, sat on Halstead's shoulder preening his feathers. The bird was calm, dark eyes gleaming in reflection of the candles that floated gently around the room. Content, Merchant began to preen Halstead's hair, though he carefully avoided the streak of dark orange that seemed to unsettle the petite falcon. Merchant's chest had a white throat dotted with dark brown feathers, his chest and stomach covered with tawny feathers and, once again, dotted with the same dark brown ones. His wings were a dark, bluish gray and his beak faded from white to a darker yet blue-grey. The underside of his wings, too, were tawny and dark brown.

With a sigh, Halstead rested his crosse on the chest at the foot of his bed and closed his eyes, forcing the steady and calming breaths Uncle Will had taught him. "Like riding a horse, son," the werewolf would say with a sparkle in his eyes. "You count each stride, each breath, and it remains steady. One, two. One, two. One two. Remember what I taught you," here he'd poke the five-year-old Halstead's nose with a harmless human finger and Halstead would giggle madly. "Our names are not our own, our honour is not our own and our blood is not our own. If you ever feel close to slipping, remember this and let the words ground you. Remind yourself of us, your pack."

In, out. In, out. One, two. One, two. Two seconds to breathe in, three seconds to breath out. With that notion at mind, Halstead fell into a quiet meditation as his mind slowly cleared of problems. He didn't forget, just soothed the memories back into a quiet place where they were not constantly at mind. Suddenly, all that mattered was breathing and being calm and relaxed for an eternity. There was no Tri-wizard Tournament or visiting werewolves from backs across the globe, no cruel children just waiting for a chance to jump him and study him like a guinea pig in a lab experiment. Just in, out, in out, in out.

He was shaken from his meditative state by a polite knocking. Prying one eye open, Halstead glanced at the being who had interrupted his calm. It was Liam, the slightly older werewolf with a bag across his shoulders, head happily tipped to one side.

"You meditate."

"Calming. Helps with the panic and all of that."

Liam nodded sympathetically, his smile now but a half. "Anyways, Scott and Stiles and I were wondering if there was anywhere we could play lacrosse. Scott's captain of the team back home and I'm his co-captain for the coming season and Stiles doesn't suck all the time."

Raising an eyebrow, Halstead considered the werewolf. "Werewolves and lacrosse are inseparable, I swear."

The other raised an eyebrow. "We are?"

"Yeah, it's like a 'sacred werewolf sport' or something. The First Peoples of North America created it to settle disputes amongst their tribes. Or that's the story, anyways. Some Wechsler Alpha got tired of watching 'wolves he had lived around for a lifetime get slaughtered in pointless battles. They played to five goals but it's the same sport. Guy was a genius."

Liam raised an eyebrow. "A bloody genius?" He asked in a fair approximation of Halstead's thick British accent. The other shoved the five foot four werewolf with his crosse, then whapped him over the head with the netted end and laughed.

"Werewolf or not, superhuman hearing or not, thou shalt not approximate thine British accent without thy head being bopped." This, Halstead said in his own attempt at a neutral American accent. It was a fair attempt though it held a twinge of various accents from across Britain. All combined into one, he sounded like an American who'd spent too long afar and had developed the slightest accent. A plausible story, of course, but Halstead still wasn't happy with the accent.

What could he say, Halstead was a perfectionist.

"Anyways," Liam continued in his normal American accent. "Lacrosse. Care to join us? Scott's _el capitán_ back home. I'm the vice captain, too. Stiles kind of sucks, but there you go. Malia's good but she doesn't care enough to be on the team and Derek's just... _Derek_. But anyways, lacrosse. Come on!"

Rolling his eyes, Halstead carefully stood and flicked the lacrosse stick over his shoulder.

Liam smiled, his silvery eyes flashing yellow for a second in challenge. Halstead made a soft rumbly sound in his throat as a response and followed the blonde werewolf through the door of his dormitory.

* * *

Lacrosse turned out seriously intense; they'd divided into a pair of teams, each three strong upon Stiles having decided that he'd prefer to back away from a duel between three werewolves and a kitsune. Halstead, personally, had never come upon the girl's species before, but he was more than happy to learn through a violent game of lacrosse. He'd heard via Liam that the dark-haired girl had psychologically beaten the crap out of several opposing teams by, well, physically beating the crap out of them.

He'd left it at that.

Scott's style was somewhat aggressive but also held an air of relaxed refinery, something that only came to a person who'd been intense about the sport for years. Or possibly a werewolf, but nonetheless. Liam was a power-player, more than willing to plow into Scott or Kira. The brunette was a player that danced across the field, dodging swiftly past even the super quick, super strong werewolves.

Halstead thought that it was amazing.

For the first time, he was playing against people who _could_ match his skill level. He was playing against supernatural creatures who understood that these skills were _important_ to them and they understood that using just a little too much strength in a pass was totally normal because they were still children. They were the young 'wolves, the ones who did have trouble hiding their skills and talents and were more likely to be picked off by hunters. No one else understood what it was like to be hunted down like people hunted normal wolves once upon a time. These people knew what it was like to lose everything in a single instant.

These _people_ understood that, just because they were monsters, didn't mean that they were killers.


	8. Chapter 8: The Jasper Merchant

**Sorry it's so short, but I've mostly been working on an advent calendar on a different account. Enjoy!**

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Somehow, the few short days were made easier by the presence of the different packs. The elders shot him pitying looks, and pat Halstead's shoulder as they made their way past him. The older teens from the Vilkas pack flashed their eyes yellow or blue when the Hogwarts kids were caught staring for too long. Most of the werewolves Halstead's age offered him consoling grins and suggested that he might join their packs one day. Quite frankly, the last bit wasn't particularly helpful but it was a kind gesture. Most werewolves were territorial, disliking outsiders such as Halstead. It was amazing to see them cooperate with wolves that they hadn't known their entire lives.

It was the youngest kids who made the biggest impacts, wrapping their arms around Halstead's legs whenever they got the chance. It was cute and endearing in a slightly irritating way. Halstead found himself adoring several of the younger werewolves and crouching down to enwrap them in hugs, too.

Liam and Edward seemed to find the entire deal hilarious and the pair had really hit it off. Liam had gained Edward's everlasting respect in a long game of lacrosse in which Liam had consistently outmanoeuvered the bulkier wolf. Edward, in turn, had gained Liam's respect through teaching the newly made werewolf to shift completely into wolf form. After that particular teaching, the silver-eyed wolf had decided that running around as a wolf and terrorizing the first years was a great deal of fun and Halstead wasn't ashamed to ay that he, too, had joined in the fun of bearing his fangs at the little ones. They always seemed petrified of the three wolves sitting neatly next to the great hall, each of whom would be grinning if they weren't wolves.

The day each pack was forced to leave, Halstead hugged several of the little ones, a couple of the Kolton youth, Liam and Chaise.

"Good luck," Chaise had mumbled.

* * *

The wooden box that Halstead had retrieved from the McCall pack turned out to have what seemed to be a golden egg in it. On the seeming golden egg were images in a simplistic and almost archaic hand. Each was etched into the side with a certain amount of care. There was the castle, and the lake, along with four figures with their arms spread and hair floating about their faces. The detail on the faces was quite surprising, and Halstead could see one for each of the champions. There was Delacour, with her long blonde hair floating around her face, Krum with his stoic face strangely relaxed, eyes closed. Diggory had his wand in hand and the surprisingly long blonde locks floating in front of him. Halstead himself had been represented with his not-that-crazy ebony hair sticking out wildly in every direction, a lightning bolt etched onto his forehead.

Halstead didn't actually have the actual scar, of course. It had long since healed and the tiny soul piece that had been curling into Halstead's head had been destroyed. The whole thing had been yet another myth that Dumbledore had created to enhance the teenaged werewolf's fame and ensure that everyone knew who he was. Naturally it had worked. Being the petulant teenaged werewolf that he was, Halstead hated it.

Two months after meeting the Beacon Hills Pack, Halstead was promptly informed that he was to be attending a dance in honour of the Tournament. Halstead scoffed but promptly informed them he would not be attending- considering the fact that his entire family had been wiped off the face of the earth not that long ago, he had a good excuse. Professor McGonogall had scoffed, insisting that the event was strictly mandatory for all of the champions and optional for anyone above the fourth year. Third years could be invited by a fourth year students, but if not they were not permitted to come. Halstead had scoffed back, then snarled and returned to his own corner of the dormitories.

On December 25, Halstead was nowhere to be found for the Yule Ball, preferring to hide himself away in the forbidden forest in his wolfen form, curling up in a warm bed of leaves to stare intot he cool darkness, and spend the evening mourning the Christmas he should have been having. He mourned for the towering green tree, with dark pine needles that hinted at blue in places, mourned for the laughters that he would never hear again, and mourned for the bright and oh so beautiful smiles of the family that he would never, ever see again. He mourned the family cat, a casual calico with warm amber eyes so similar to Halstead's own.

(The letter he'd received informed him that Jasper had been placed in the care of an elderly woman, and that she would be totally fine as the cat lived out her days. Upon returning for his family's funeral midway through the week, Halstead had promptly informed the child care people that he would be keeping both Jasper and Merchant with him at school. The elderly woman, upon seeing Halstead, had wisely decided not to argue. Jasper had taken a liking to Hermione Granger's cat, an orange floof with a flat face that went by the name of Crookshanks. Granger had taken a disliking to Jasper, and the beautiful calico cat had left a nasty scar down the Gryffindor's leg.)

The Second Task, as it turned out, was diving to the bottom of the Black Lake and retrieving something that was precious to him. In this case, Halstead was anticipating Jasper or Merchant being stolen away from him. He wasn't close to any of the other students and he never had been. Not to mention that they needed a person's consent to place them under a freezing charm, they wouldn't be able to take any of the werewolves Halstead knew because, in the words of the Ministry, "Werewolves are ferocious and uncontrollable creatures, to be avoided at all costs."

Oh this was looking like a great deal of fun.


	9. Chapter 9: Merman's Tale

**Hey! Sorry about the wait but I've been slightly busy. I appreciate any comments you'd care to leave and I also really appreciate follows and faves.**

On the morning of the Second Task, Halstead found himself staring at the masses of students gathered and finding a very select few missing. There was a Ravenclaw girl in the year above him who had not shown up, and nor had he seen her at breakfast which was a rarity considering it was her favourite place to tease another Ravenclaw, this one a year younger than Halstead, and play cruel little pranks on her such as turning the girl's dirty blond hair a burning shade of bright red, or spelling her books to read in German rather than English.

The girl didn't seem to particularly mind, but Halstead always picked up the differences in her scent and offered for her to sit at his table as often as possible.

Strangely enough, Luna Lovegood had also been missing from the Ravenclaw table that morning. Luna disappearing from meals was not at all uncommon, though with the older Ravenclaw missing Halstead would be lying to say that he wasn't slightly worried about her. Thankfully, he caught a wisp of her scent in the air and settled down on the fact that the pale third year had disappeared off to the Forbidden Forest to visit her 'imaginary' friends (whom Halstead was pretty sure actually existed and could only be seen by varying types of supernatural creatures) and the unicorns and thestrals, only one of which had ever taken kindly to Halstead and his wolfy scent.

From the Gryffindor's, Hermione Granger was missing. Her distinctive bushy brown hair was nowhere to be seen in the crowds, even with Halstead's advanced eyesight, and her scent of freshly cut grass, parchment and ink was distinctly missing from the rest of Gryffindor's more earthly scents. Halstead rolled his eyes. Honestly, couldn't those bumbling buffoons tidy up once in a while? It wasn't like a shower had ever killed someone. Granger seemed to be the only one capable of keeping herself clean and tidy. He knew that everything about her was meticulously organized, and based on that fact he deduced that any murder she were to commit would be down very tidily and be well planned out, something that he deduced from having binge-watched Criminal Minds over the summer and absolutely fallen in love with it.

By the Black Lake, it was likely chilly for everyone else but Halstead couldn't feel the cold through the warmth of his werewolf body. Despite that, he'd thrown on a full body wetsuit and summoned a fully working set of scuba gear that would give him about five hours of oxygen if need be.

His feet were already cloaked in the flippers he figured he would be needing to get down to the bottom of the lake quicker than everyone else, all of whom seemed to have brought nothing along aside from their wands. Frankly it seemed like a stupid course of action to Halstead, who vastly preferred practicality to the boring sameness that all of the Wizarding World seemed to prefer.

Someone counted the 'Champions' in, and, obediently, Halstead let the heavy scuba gear pull him down into the water. Everything was working perfectly, he noted as the oxygen flowed easily into his mouth, and then back out as he exhaled. A quick glance around let him see that the others had done some rather curious things; Delacour and Diggory seemed to have compared notes as both had large air bubbles surrounding their mouths. Krum himself had done something that Halstead was quite sure that no one had ever suspected. Rather than an air bubble or even scuba gear, Krum was half a shark. His head and torso, though not arms which seemed to have just flattened slightly, were that of a Great White Shark, whilst his legs remained the same which seemed quite illogical to Halstead. He'd added a lot of weight with nothing to remedy it.

Halstead shrugged, letting his new found fins carry him deep into the darkness of the Black Lake. The headlamp he had was certainly helping him light the way. He swam onwards through the dark, murky water, occasionally glancing this way and that. Above water, he would have been able to follow the scent of the captive people, but beneath it his only advantage was his strength and eyesight. Swimming even farther into the darkness brought him towards a large drop off, and Halstead stared down at it for a long second before deciding that, no, he would not be swimming into that darkness. It was too deep for wizards to have placed anything there. He followed the edge.

A quick check of his watch revealed that a half hour had already passed. He raised his eyes slightly at the sight, then continued on through the darkness, along the edge of the chasm. His strength propelled him through the cold water until he finally was able to circle around the chasm and make his way towards what might have been light, and what might have just been his headlamp glowing off of something in the darkness. Nonetheless, he continued to push forwards with a certain ferocity. Despite having no idea what he was supposed to be going to rescue, something urged him onwards in the cold. The distant light did get brighter, and as Halstead cleared a rise on the bottom of the lake, he was met by the sight of a towering statue.

The statue that he was met by had to be at least a fifty feet tall, shaped like an immense merman carrying a spear raised above his head as though he were about to throw it. His tail curled upwards, and from it Halstead could distantly see the image of four silhouettes, two distinctly small and all of them female. They were each tied by their ankles to the merman's tail, separated at even distances. They looked ghostly and dead, almost like something out of one of the video games that Halstead was never above playing. Surrounding the statue and the girls were a large group of mermen and mermaids, carrying spears and swords. Halstead approached gingerly.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Halstead warned softly.

The mermen parted, one giving him a strange smile. "There is no need," he hissed in a strange parody of English.

With a smile, Halstead made his way past.

His claws pierced through his wetsuit as he slashed through the rope tying Luna to it. She floated into his arms, and he pulled them both upwards until they breached the water.


	10. Chapter 10: Jaws

In the days leading up to the Third Task, Halstead began to avoid class.

He was plagued by nightmares, visions of the death and destruction that he was sure was to come in the following days. There was a scream, of a name that Halstead didn't answer to but in this case he did, and he screamed back. Not once did he see a face in his nightmares, but he saw a graveyard with sprawling acres shadowed in mist that hung close to the ground. Tombstones, morbid and crumbling in the darkness, peaked out of the fog in places but in others they were just shadows in the pale grey mist. There were depictions of grim reapers hanging about the graveyard, around the graves of those whom Halstead presumed to be particularly well to do.

An ache sat deep in his heart at the thought of his family. There was Alberta, hanging in his minds eye with her fiery hair braided over her shoulder. As always, she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a downy parka wrapped around her and her grin as large as ever. Magnus grinned along with hi older sister, and wrapped Halstead in a warm hug that he returned, burying his nose in the other werewolf's shoulder and inhaling his warm scent.

When he grew particularly saddened, Jasper would come and curl up in his lap and press her nose into his elbow and she would let out a deep, rolling purr that Halstead found innately comforting. Merchant sometimes came to sit on his shoulder and preen Halstead's hair, the hawk's sharp beak carefully winding through the thick tangles in his hair and soothing them flat.

(The strands slowly popped back up, but Halstead gave kudos to the bird for even bothering to try.)

 **My only incentive for this chapter was posting on February 29th, so I figured I might as well finish up and be able to say, "I finished my most popular story of all time on a day that doesn't exist anymore."**

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His social group dwindled as the days went on, the few people who had stayed with him after the werewolf reveal left as Halstead grew increasingly reclusive. Most nights, he didn't sleep and rather poured over ancient texts or sparred with a charmed dummy. As the Task grew closer, he submitted the forms that would draw him from Hogwarts at the end of the year. He'd told no one of the decision, and if he had somehow Halstead found himself thinking that they wouldn't have cared. After all, he was just a withdrawn young werewolf hoping not to die in the Tasks that he was forced to take part in.

On the rare occasion that Halstead did sleep, he was always shaken awake by one of his dorm-mates, normally Seamus Finnigan or Dean Thomas, and told that he'd been, "Screaming [his] bloody head off," and that he had accidentally woken the others in the process. Not even the silencing charms he placed on his curtains prevented the way he woke the others. Due to his intensive lack of sleep, Halstead's eyes grew tired and there came to be immense bags beneath his eyes as though he hadn't slept in a month. The dreams were better when Halstead slept in his fully shifted form, warm fur surrounding him and reminding him that there were others who loved him.

When the Third Task did roll 'round, Halstead entered the immense maze first, diving forth and shifting as he went so that he landed on strong paws rather than hands and feet and dove through the maze as though he had no other purpose in life.

It felt like that, sometimes.

But with the wind rustling through his fur and the steady pound of his own feet beneath him, none of that was a bother to Halstead. He didn't feel the normal urge to move faster as though invisible crocodiles were snapping at his heals and nor did he feel the need to slow down for a drink of water or for a chance to rest. He paused only to choose what path to took and it was with the strength his wolvly-hood granted him that Halstead surged onwards without a care in the world. Maybe his dreams would come true, either that day or another, but that didn't matter to Halstead in the moment.

All that mattered was his paws tearing up the soft ground as he wound through the maze, a curving bullet soaring towards its target or a blood hound on the path to finding a murderer.

For years previously, Halstead had dreamt of two things; acceptance, both in the wizarding world and in the normal one, and of saving lives. Having seen his entire family torn apart before him, Halstead had a particular interest in catching up with those who had wronged others. For the most part, Halstead dreamt of bringing justice to the families of the slain, and knowing that is was only the closure that he brought that would allow them to be at peace. But most of all, Halstead dreamt of bringing the people, the _hunters,_ who had slaughtered his entire family, to justice.

With his ears flattened against his head, Halstead's sense of hearing had dimmed allowing him only to hear the rustles of the bushes around him. Likewise, his eyes were rendered partially useless by the winds whipping through his fur and around his lithe form.

It was such that Halstead scarcely noticed when he slammed, paws first, into something solid and snapping his eyes open he stumbled, falling to the ground with a huff.

"What?" He growled as best as he could, considering his wolfen-form.

Clumsily standing from where he lay, Halstead shook out his fur and took the time to glance around. His haunches plopped onto the ground beneath him and his jaws parted in a yawn.

His surroundings were remarkably similar to that of his nightmares, and Halstead came to find that the scent was that of death and decay, mixed with something he found beyond disgusting. For a second, he choked on the rancid scent surrounding him before he retracted his sense of smell back to his human one. Suddenly, the graveyard didn't smell quite so awful.

In the bushes, something shifted and Halstead let out a soft growl as he whipped his head back to gaze at the tombs surrounding his position. A twig snapped and Halstead glanced forwards once again. When he parted his lips again, it was a snarl that he emit.

 _"Calm,"_ Halstead reminded himself in the word's his uncle had once used. _"If you're panicked, you give your enemy an advantage and that is something that wolves like us cannot allow."_

He opened his jaw, breathing in the horrible air and picking up traces of a human scent. The paws beneath him shifted softly on the ground and as he turned, Halstead found himself faced by a short, portly man who smelled just slightly like a rat. In his arms was a bundle, and Halstead's nose wrinkled at the scent of decay that the tiny bundle emit.

A snarl tore through his throat as he recognized the scent of decay and that was all the encouragement the wolf needed to lunge.


End file.
